


Black Tongue

by moonheist



Category: Supernatural, Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Gen, brief mention of rape, fic based on yeah yeah yeahs songs, maybe definitely crackfic, probably crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 04:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2137515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonheist/pseuds/moonheist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She smiles cockily and tilts her head to the side, stirring something in his blood that is usually only bothered in the presence of something big and bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Tongue

There are very specific signs that he has come to associate with demonic possession, and for once, the random girl that Sam met at a bar doesn’t seem to have any of them. Dean is stunned that his little brother has actually learned something in the past few months that he has been trapped in Hell, and despite the fact that he is more clingy than ever now that Dean is back, he has to admit that he is impressed with Sam’s newly-acquired hunting skills.

“Veronica,” she introduces herself, pushing past him and boosting herself onto the hood of his Impala before he can form the words to protest. She smiles cockily and tilts her head to the side, stirring something in his blood that is usually only bothered in the presence of something big and bad.

He decides to re-think his previous judgment about her lack of demonic qualities.

“Get the hell off my car,” he snaps, making a sweeping motion with his hand. Veronica remains sitting, crossing one leg over the other and swinging her foot teasingly.

“Not a very nice way to greet someone,” she comments lightly. “And it’s hardly the kind-hearted hello I expected from the amazing Dean Winchester,” she continues. Dean opens his mouth to retort, but then her words register and his brow furrows in confusion. She takes the opportunity to jump off his car and circle him slowly.

The entire situation screams _demon, kill, kill, kill, kill_ , but Bobby says there might be something wrong with him now that he has returned, so the killing has been left to Sam for the time being.

Dean seems to recall a fear that Sam was bad, once, so he has no idea how leaving the hunt up to his brother is a good idea. And really, if he did come back wrong, then shouldn’t fighting evil help him get back to normal? Not that anything about him or his life is _normal_. That assessment includes the girl standing in front of him.

Veronica trails one finger down open line of his leather jacket and he arches his eyebrows. “I’m not sure I see it.” She quirks her mouth and takes a step back, once again perching on the hood of his car. He scowls.

“See what?” he asks. “And get the hell off my car!”

“Tsk, tsk.” She puts her hands behind her and leans back, flipping her hair a bit. “You should be able to keep up; I’m not talking that fast, am I?” She smiles coyly. “I don’t see how ‘wonderful’ is an apt description for you.”

She remains sitting on his car and Dean feels his blood boil. He clenches his fists and growls low in his throat.

“Sammy!” he shouts, whipping around. Sam is leaning against the doorframe of their motel room, smirking slightly with his arms crossed over his chest. “What the hell are you doing, bringing girls back to the room with you? We don’t have time for this!”

“Didn’t you say last year that we needed to have fun while we could?”

Dean gapes. He has only been gone five months, and somehow the entire world has turned upside down and left him with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. He idly wishes that he had called Jo that time he promised her he would, because maybe then she would be here and he would be able to talk to someone that at least falls under the category of ‘possibly stable.’

“What’s causing all these disappearances?” Veronica interrupts before the argument can go anywhere. Dean doesn’t know if he wants to hit her or kiss her. He and Sam have been bickering constantly since his return.

“We don’t know yet,” Sam responds. “It could be a demon, or it could be something else.”

“A demon?” she questions. Dean glares at his brother and then rolls his eyes in exasperation.

“Yes, a demon. An evil thing that’s crawled its way up from hell to wreak havoc upon the Earth. There are thousands of them out there, and it’s more than likely that one of them is here, probably with some buddies, snatching teenagers for breakfast,” he explains hastily, walking the short distance to Sam and hitting him over the head. “Don’t bring over girls who have no idea what lurks around in the dark, okay?”

With that, he shoves past Sam into the motel room and slams the door shut behind him, unceremoniously knocking his little brother on his ass. The window is open, and he can hear him cursing. Veronica is laughing, and a quick glance beneath the curtains reveals that she is no longer sitting on the Impala, but rather helping Sam to his feet.

Sam smiles at her and thanks her quietly, resting his hand just below her elbow. Dean rolls his eyes; the kid still hasn’t gotten over Ruby and he’s trying to flirt. Really, it’s kind of sad, but he doesn’t have time for amateur relationships and blonde girls with no respect for personal property.

He sighs heavily and rips off his jacket, tossing it onto the bed as he reaches for his shirt and tugs that off as well, heading for the tiny shower at the back of the motel room. The bathroom can barely fit one person in it, and the shower doesn’t even offer room to turn around, but the water pressure is decent.

The door opens behind him and he can hear Veronica laughing as Sam walks into the room. “Do you want to come in?” he wonders. Dean has the urge to stop and give his brother another lecture, but his skin is crawling for reasons he cannot determine.

He keeps walking. The spray of the showerhead drowns out whatever illicit activities are surely not going on one room over and he breathes carefully against the cold tile wall.

\--

The next morning, he wakes to the smell of cheap motel coffee and the distinct sound of a newspaper being ruffled right next to his ear. He groans and rolls over, landing half in someone’s lap. Dean furrows his brow at the decidedly soft feeling of the skin beneath his cheek and he opens one eye blearily.

Veronica absently strokes her hand through his hair and he jumps back, nearly falling off the bed in his haste. He glares at her, hanging onto the edge of the comforter, and she looks up from her newspaper with a smile.

“Sleep well?” she wonders, spreading the paper calmly across her lap. The front page boasts a headline too similar to the one that drew them to this shithole town in the first place and his stomach clenches tightly.

“What the hell?” he murmurs, shifting so that he is propped up on his elbow. Veronica stares at him for a second and then shrugs her shoulders, turning back to the paper.

“Sam said you weren’t much of a morning person. There’s juice in the mini fridge and a fresh pot of coffee by the sink. It isn’t too bad, if you pour enough cream in it,” she tells him nonchalantly.

There is a long, drawn-out silence as Dean tries to figure out why Sam would have given her access to their motel room while neither of them was available should something happen, but his thoughts make his blood run cold with that same feeling of dread he gets every time he is on a hunt. He abruptly stops thinking and crawls out of bed, making his way to the bathroom.

As he relieves himself, he cracks his neck and sighs heavily, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. There is something decidedly off about this girl and he cannot place it. Briefly, he wonders if it isn’t just some side effect of being trapped in hell for six months.

It’s amazing how much paranoia a guy can develop after half a year of battling anyone that comes near him. Dominance is a big factor in demon dimensions. If he was more of a pansy, like Sam, he surely would’ve been sent to an even deeper circle of hell, and then he never would have made it back.

He wonders if it even matters anymore, now that Bobby won’t let him fight.

With another sigh, he adjusts his boxers and flushes the toilet, wincing at the loud whining sound that comes from the pipes. Theirs is one of fifteen rooms that haven’t been flooded yet, something the motel owner is mighty proud of. Dean rolls his eyes at the memory of the guy gushing about the renovations he is planning to make now that he’s bought the place and scratches his head as he joins Veronica in the main room.

“Do you mind telling me what you’re doing here?” he asks, pouring himself a cup of coffee. The first sip is bitter, with a faint twinge of chlorine, and he scrunches up his face in distaste.

“I don’t see why it matters,” she replies calmly, tilting her head as she reads an article.

“Sam ask you to watch out for me?” The corner of her mouth twitches and Dean hides a smirk behind his Styrofoam cup. “I can take care of myself, you know.” She snorts. “I can!” he repeats, indignant.

Veronica glances up at him and then reaches behind her for something. His limbs tense automatically and he prepares to lunge. His survival technique has vastly improved since the night the hell hounds took him.

Her hand resurfaces a moment later, clutching one of his daggers, and his shoulders sag in defeat. “Always prepared, right?”

“What line of work are you in?”

She stares at him for a moment and then quirks her mouth slightly, her eyes narrowing. “I’m a private detective,” she tells him.

“Don’t you have some sort of protection with you all the time?”

“A taser.”

Dean laughs. “I’m sure that’s really useful against six hundred pound convicts. Do you even have combat training to back you up if something goes wrong?”

“I don’t normally deal with that kind of--”

“Oh, so you deal more with the sordid cases, then. Cheating husbands,” he comments wryly. “How’d you end up working this thing?”

“I’m not working this case,” she replies. His forehead wrinkles in confusion. Before he can ask her what she’s doing snooping around the victims’ homes, Sam walks in the front door bearing real coffee and a box of donuts.

“Sorry that took so long.” He directs his apology at Veronica, but then he sees Dean standing at the back of the room and he smirks a little, dropping his purchases on the table. “Sleep well?”

Dean scowls.

\--

For three days, every time Dean turns around, Veronica is there. In the brief moments that she isn’t constantly under foot, Sam is, and Dean is starting to question his decision to climb out of Hell and re-join the fight. He is so irritated with his brother and the blonde that he all but rips Bobby’s head off when he shows up to offer his assistance.

“What crawled up your ass and died?” Bobby asks, tossing a bag at his feet. Dean looks down and immediately his fingers itch to sort through the weapons. He clenches his jaw and folds his arms across his chest, consciously resisting the urge as he digs his nails into his arms.

“Let me help Sam with this case,” he replies, standing his ground. Bobby snorts. “Why is it such a hazard for me to be involved in the hunt?”

“You are involved. You drove here, didn’t you? You’ve been helping with the research, filling Veronica in on your findings--”

“Right, and then there’s Veronica. Why does she get to investigate while I have to sit on my ass watching pay per view porn?” Dean demands. Bobby arches an eyebrow and he rolls his eyes with a sigh. “No, I haven’t been buying pay per view porn. But the point still stands!” he shouts.

“Keep your voice down,” Bobby mutters, taking a seat at the table. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to jump back on the horse just yet. You’re too eager.”

“I just wanna kill this son of a bitch and move on with my life! I didn’t come back to be Sam’s lap dog!” Dean shouts again, pointing absently at his brother’s bed.

“If you want to fight, there’s nothing I can honestly do to stop you,” Bobby concedes. “But Dean, so help me God, if you let your ego take hold of you and something happens to you or your brother, I will personally send your ass back to whatever dimension you fought your way out of,” he growls, standing again to bear down on Dean. The latter sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. “And don’t even think about using Veronica as bait, because she isn’t going to put up with it and neither am I.”

Dean frowns at that. He honestly hadn’t been thinking of using the girl as bait, but it would make sense. The demon has been going after teenagers, mostly young girls for reasons neither he nor Sam has been willing to discuss, in Veronica’s presence or otherwise. “Why are you so protective of her?”

Bobby glares at him for a long time. The resulting silence is incredibly loud, buzzing with energy and tension. Finally, he asks, “Sam didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“She’s my niece,” Bobby says seriously, looking for the entire world like a confused guard dog. “Why do you think she’s been so involved? She’s been trying to help Sam ever since you got dragged off by the hell hounds.”

“She’s your _niece_?” Dean roared.

“Her dad is a private detective, showed her all the tricks of the trade. Between his training and mine--”

Dean groaned and made to storm off, realizing with a jolt that they were still standing in the motel room and he had nowhere to go. For a moment, he had been convinced that he was somewhere with a lot more pacing room, and he sits on the edge of his bed feeling dejected. Dropping his head into his hands, he rubs his face aggressively and then sits up, propping his elbows on his knees as he stares at his mentor.

“I couldn’t think of anyone else who was qualified enough to help Sam when you were gone,” Bobby continues calmly. “Now that you’re back, she didn’t want to abandon the fight, so she offered to stick around. Sam said she was welcome to.”

“Of course he did,” Dean grumbles. “I thought he picked her up at a bar. She seems like the type to hang around for her own entertainment.”

“Entertainment’s got a lot to do with it, certainly,” Bobby laughs, sitting down once more. “She was bored stiff with her job.”

“What was she doing?”

There is another long pause and Dean gets the distinct feeling that he has crossed a line. He shakes it off and justifies the sudden onslaught of guilt by telling himself that Sam and Bobby have been lying to him for weeks.

“If you want to know that, you’ll have to ask her,” Bobby says. He adjusts his hat and stands again, reaching out to pull Dean into a reluctant hug.

“Thanks for the weapons,” Dean mutters, patting the older man on the shoulder once more as he pulls away. Bobby nods and turns to leave. Dean crouches by the bag to sort through the weapons, his fingers itching to deal with guns and knives again as Bobby pauses in the doorway.

“Be careful, Dean. Jumping into the fray this soon is dangerous,” he warns. The door closes snugly behind him before Dean can respond, and he sighs heavily as he pulls a familiar blade from the bag. His eyes widen and he forgets about the warning before it even fully sinks in.

\--

Sam looks like he wants to cry when Dean shows him the knife, and Dean can hardly blame him. The love of his life was killed by the same demon that killed their mother when Sam was just a baby, and the only girl he was interested in after that turned out to _be_ a demon that was sent back to Hell when she was pushed out of her body by another, more sinister Hell spawn.

“Bobby brought it by with a bunch of other weapons,” Dean says quietly. “I didn’t know if you--”

“Thanks,” Sam says, smiling weakly. “I thought Lillith destroyed it that night.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean shifts, mildly uncomfortable with the level of emotion in the room. He glances at Veronica, standing in the corner, and she grins. “Don’t lose it, okay?” he grunts and walks outside for some fresh air.

Murmuring follows him out and he identifies the gentle tone of Veronica’s voice, met by the lower, gruffer tone of his brother’s. A moment later, she joins him in the parking lot and he shoves his hands in his pockets, kicking gravel away from the Impala.

“Did he tell you when he saw you today?”

“Yeah,” he replies with a nod. “I assume you weren’t planning on it.”

“Not exactly,” Veronica murmurs. “Sam thought you would freak out if you knew that we had tried to replace you.”

“You could never replace me,” Dean cries, incredulous. He finally looks at her and is met with an amused stare as she arches her eyebrows at him. He resists the urge to growl. “Why were you so eager to stay, anyway?”

“I was bored with my job,” she replies.

“Life of a P.I. can’t be that boring.”

She smirks. “You’d be surprised.”

Dean grabs her shoulders roughly, hauling her toward him. Alarm lights in her eyes for a brief moment and then she relaxes, resting her hands on his chest as she stares up at him. “What aren’t you telling me?” he asks, voice low and dangerous.

Veronica smiles slowly, leaning into him. She is close enough that he can smell her hair, and for a moment he is intoxicated by the feeling of a woman in his arms after so long. He breathes her in and then she grips his shirt, the strength of her hold startling him. The overwhelming urge to snatch Ruby’s knife from Sam and cut Veronica with it -- just to see if his previous suspicions have merit -- is so strong that it nearly bowls him over.

“I was working with the FBI,” she confesses. He recalls the thread of the conversation with some coherency and focuses on it intently, digging his thumbs into her shoulders. “I was charged with insubordination, and as such I was given two options.”

She sighs heavily and looks to the side, clenching her jaw tightly. “I could leave the firm or I could stay and work a desk job. If I chose the latter, I might’ve been able to work toward another field position once I regained their trust.”

“You chose the desk job,” Dean guesses. Veronica nods once, her eyes flashing darkly. “But then you left. Why?”

“I was doing research one day and stumbled across some files belonging to a secret field team of detectives. Every one of them outlined some sort of supernatural threat, and ways in which they could be taken out before the amateurs caught wind of the problem,” she says steadily.

His blood boils. “By amateurs, they mean hunters.” She meets his eyes and nods again. Dean lets go of her lest he do serious damage to her arms and backs up, leaning against his car heavily. “You let me think that you didn’t know what a demon was when I met you.”

“Like I said before, we didn’t want you jumping to the wrong conclusions about my being here. Sam needed a partner, and with Ruby gone--”

“Veronica was the next best thing,” Sam contributes. Dean turns his head sharply, locking eyes with his brother. “Bobby just called,” he says seriously. “He thinks we might be able to grab the demon tonight. There’s activity near one of the victim’s houses.”

“Why would he go back if he’s already snatched someone?”

“Emily Summers has a twin sister,” Veronica mutters, staring at Sam. Dean looks back and forth between the two of them, the name registering vaguely among the facts and dates that he has been trying to juggle for the past week, and he pushes away from the Impala with determination.

“Let’s kill this thing.”

\--

His hand is broken and he is drifting in and out of consciousness by the time Sam collects him from the basement of the house. Dean feels much like he did the night that he was killed -- like he is falling into an abyss, and the pain is intensified by Bobby’s words ringing in his ears like an omen.

So much for a renewed survival instinct. He snorts unceremoniously.

“We need to take him to a hospital,” Veronica murmurs. Cold hands run over his face and he turns his cheek into her palm, seeking comfort for the blinding pain in his left hand. “Are you sure it’s dead?”

“Yes,” Sam says darkly. Dean feels himself being lowered into the backseat of the Impala and he groans softly when his hand brushes against the door. Someone moves his arm so that it is lying across his chest, putting his hand out of danger, and he tries to say thank you but his throat is too dry.

After that, he falls unconscious, and when he wakes again, his head is cradled in Veronica’s lap in a blindingly sterile room. She is running her fingers through his hair, watching someone to her left. Dean shifts his head and sees that she is watching Sam fill out some paperwork.

“What’s my name?” he asks. Veronica jumps, looking frightened at the question, but Sam just smirks.

“Dominic Rodriguez,” he replies, a hint of amusement leaking into his voice.

“Am I married?”

“Engaged,” Veronica replies with a smile, holding up her left hand. A cheap ring resides on her third finger and Dean grins up at her, recognizing a familiar twinge beneath his skin when she sticks her tongue out at him.

“We’re going to become a statistic,” he says groggily. 

“Shut up before you lose your voice and can’t tell the doctor where it hurts,” Sam snaps, though his laugh softens the words. Dean closes his eyes and buries his face in Veronica’s stomach, mumbling affectionately that his younger brother is a fuckwit.

\--

Bobby is hardly pleased, but seeing as Dean kept his promise and didn’t compromise Sam or Veronica in the fight, he can’t do anything more than yell for a few hours about being too careless. Veronica finally takes her uncle aside and explains that if it hadn’t been for her, Dean would’ve escaped completely unscathed, which accomplishes the opposite of her goal and makes Bobby yell for another forty-five minutes.

Sam isn’t present for the festivities, since he offered to do the clean-up work, but Dean can’t be bitter toward his younger brother for missing the scolding. When Bobby leaves, he closes his eyes and sinks under his covers, cradling his bandaged hand carefully against his chest.

Veronica sits next to him, looking up new jobs in a stack of papers she picked up at the hospital, and Dean dozes quietly. It isn’t until he starts moaning in his sleep that she wakes him up to take his pain medication, and he is struck dumb by how beautiful and clear her face is when she hands him a glass of water once he is sitting against the headboard.

“Stop staring at me,” she commands, closing her laptop and shifting the papers to the floor. “You look stoned.”

“I’m on three different medications and I’m groggy,” he says wryly. “Like you’d be any more coherent if you were in my position.”

At that, she gets incredibly quiet, and he sighs as he finishes his glass of water. The pills have been washed down already, but his throat is scratchy and sore. He sets the empty glass on the nightstand and turns toward her, resting his temple against the wall.

“I’m sorry about your hand,” she murmurs. Dean can hear the reluctance in her tone and he rolls his eyes. She is so damn insistent on not showing weakness.

“S’not your fault,” he replies, shifting slightly. Veronica laughs bitterly. “Really, Veronica, don’t worry about it. I’ve been hurt before.”

“If I had been paying attention, you wouldn’t have had to jump in front of me like that,” she argues petulantly. “Of course it’s my fault. You can’t say that I’m not responsible.”

“Yes, I can,” he retorts. “I should’ve known better than to fall like that. I was trained not to stick my hands out like an ass if I got knocked down.”

“It stepped on you.” She frowns. He smiles dryly.

“It tried to eat you,” he replies.

She gives him a dark look and scoots toward him, reaching for his injured hand. He hisses in pain when she wraps her fingers around his cast, jerking his arm at an odd angle, and she immediately corrects her grip so that their hands are resting against his chest, immobile. His skin tingles.

“I have a lot to learn, don’t I?” she asks quietly.

Dean strokes his free hand down her arm, squinting slightly when she locks eyes with him. “I’ll teach you. Sam sucks at explaining anything.”

Veronica laughs and he grins in response, letting his hand come to rest on her upper thigh. She tilts her head back against the wall and swallows carefully, closing her eyes slowly.

His eyes glaze over as he stares at her and he smiles lazily as he recognizes the subtle difference between bloodlust and sexual desire. Hell must’ve mixed the feelings up and made everything about death, because what he is feeling now is hardly what he felt toward the demon that broke his hand last night.

When she opens her eyes again, he leans forward and hopes that Bobby doesn’t plan on popping in for another lecture this afternoon.

Her smile curves against his mouth and he intertwines it with his own.


End file.
